Chapter 26 #3
Too stunned to speak, Budli opened and closed his agape mouth like a floundering fish.
His ravenous gaze feasted on Sigurd’s exorbitant offer.
After a few moments, he regained his royal composure and flashed a greedy, gloating grin.
“I shall be honored to call you son,” he rumbled, his florid face flushed with delight.
“I hereby grant you Brynhildr’s royal hand—and I shall announce your betrothal at tonight’s feast.” He rose on unsteady feet, raised his elkhorn high, and roared.
“To your winter solstice wedding at Hrafnfjall! Skál!”
That evening, after a sumptuous feast of roast pheasant, grilled salmon, and steaming scallops, shrimp, and lobster, Budli announced the betrothal.
Rising from his carved ondvegi, where Sigurd sat at his side in the place of honor at the high table, the Raven King raised his hand to silence the jubilant throng.
When hushed murmurs of anticipation swept over the hall, Budli’s rich bellow resounded like a bronze bell.
“Let all who feast here tonight rejoice, for Sigurd Sea Wolf—Dragonslayer of Sjóborg and Volsung King of Lindesnes—has requested the hand of my dóttir Brynhildr!” He paused as murmurs of astonishment rippled through the royal guests.
“My Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden has willingly shed her Valkyrie wings to wed her beloved Sea Wolf and become his queen,” Budli boomed with a proud paternal grin.
He lifted his embellished elkhorn above his raven-crowned russet head.
“I hereby announce their betrothal and upcoming royal wedding—to take place here at Hrafnfajll, upon the Winter Solstice. To Sigurd Sea Wolf and Brynhildr, King and future Queen of Lindesnes!”
As roars of approval and shouts of “Skál!” thundered through the throng, Budli resumed his seat upon the throne and motioned for his royal skáld. The tall, russet-haired poet Kjartan entertained Hrafnfjall with his glorious song of tribute, Dragonslayer’s Valkyrie, the saga of Sigurd and Brynhildr.
While he savored the mellow flavor of the honeyed mead and the rich notes of the skáld’s melodic song, Sigurd inclined his head reverently to Yrsa, seated on Budli’s left side.
Her haunting face painted with deep blue woad and blackened runes, the volva who had been Brynhildr’s mentor and guardian observed Sigurd with all-seeing, seeress eyes.
Lively musicians led the exuberant crowd and jovial king from the festive hall out onto the flagstone courtyard to dance around an enormous bonfire. As Sigurd followed Gunnar, Hogni, and Kveld Nightwolf toward the steps to descend the dais, Yrsa grasped his hand to halt him.
She traced a skeletal fingertip over the wedding band that Kveld had carved which sat upon Sigurd’s hand. The etched images of wolf, falcon, and dragon glimmered in the firelight, and the ouroboros upon Sigurd’s chest pulsed with seier at her potent touch.
When she gazed up at him, the whites around her deep blue eyes made them stand out from her woad-painted face. “When the time comes,” she whispered, her otherworldly gaze leaving Sigurd and fixing upon the Nightwolf, who had stopped to listen, “I shall aid you.”
Kveld solemnly inclined his dark, wolfskin-clad head.
When Yrsa released Sigurd’s shaking hand, he followed the silent vitki out into the starlit night.
As he watched Gunnar, Hogni, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan dance with lovely maidens, memories of holding Brynhildr and swirling around the flames choked Sigurd with breathless longing.
Restless, he wove among the jubilant crowd, making his way toward the wild rose and ivy-covered stone wall which shielded Brynhildr’s private courtyard.
The sweet floral fragrance of roses mingled with the salty scent of the sea. Sigurd gazed down to the shore beneath her private tower, where Kveld had carved the triple bindrune and they had shared the blood-laced mead.
Sigurd looked up at the balcony on the third floor of the tower above his head.
The double oaken doors which led to her secluded chambers were closed over the moonlit fjord.
Behind them, in her private quarters, he and Brynhildr had stood naked together, binding their blood oath to each other in seier and starlight.
The sacred words he had sworn to her floated on the salty breeze.
My golden goddess…my Sun Falcon…my beloved Brynhildr. By all the gods, I swear that I shall love none but yon, in this life and the next.
Sigurd stared at the starlit sea which would carry him to Brynhildr. He gazed down at his drakkar, beached upon the pebbled shore below the cliff where he now stood.
At úlfalkr’s curved prow. the proud falcon stretched her carved wings, each feather intricately etched with wolves and runes that glimmered in the moonlight.
Soon, my love. I shall return for you at Hlymdalir. Bring you back here to Hrafnfjall for our winter solstice wedding. And once we are royally wed, crown you my Volsung queen.
His heart heavy with longing yet filled with hope, Sigurd returned to the feast.